The One Where Ross Returns
by thinktink2
Summary: What if things had occurred a little differently in London? Suppose Ross and Emily had gone on their honeymoon together, but Ross cuts off all contact with is friends. Now he's back and some big changes have taken place in his absence.
1. Working 9 to well, something

What if things had occurred a little differently in London? Suppose Ross and Emily had gone on their honeymoon together, but only after Rachel confesses to Ross that she still has feelings for him. Ross, very confused, gets very angry with her. The rest of friends try to stick up for Rachel and defuse the situation but only anger and alienate Ross (and Emily) further from the remaining five friends, to the point where they're no longer talking. How will Ross react when he returns to New York five years later and see what he's missed out on? (M/C)

"And Doug wants these reconfigurations on his desk by Wednesday."

"Thank you, Harriet."

"I have that expense report ready for you to sign off on."

"Leave it on my desk and I'll get it back to you as soon as I finish this pile." I pat an unsteadily stacked pile of documents piled over my inbox. Harriet looks at it dubiously before rolling her eyes in resignation. Once again all her hard work will be forgotten by the time I reach it.

"Sorry." I smile apologetically. Harriet looks unimpressed. She glances down at the pad in her hand.

"Oh, and your wife called."

"Everything okay?"

Harriet shrugs. "She wanted you to pick up some asparagus and taffy."

I cringe. Yuck. God, I hope neither of those is on the dinner menu tonight.

"Okay, I'll put it on my list."

Harriet nods and makes a mark on her steno pad.

"Anything else?" I prompt, reaching for the July data report.

"No, Mr. Bing."

"All righty then." All righty then? Did I really just say that? Harriet rolls her eyes and lets herself out, closing the door behind her.

I manage to claim an hour and a half of peace and productivity before the ringing of the phone breaks my concentration. Probably Monica calling to add some more weird food choices to my list, or Joey, to beg me to pick up a pizza.

"Chandler Bing," I say nonchalantly into the receiver, fishing out the WENUS from under a pile of papers. For a moment it's so silent I wonder if I've been disconnected, but then there's the harsh crackle of someone clearing their throat and then,

"Ch-Chandler?"

"Yes. Who's this?"

And right after I say that it hits me why that voice sounds so familiar, although I haven't heard it for over five years.

"Uh, this is, uh, ahem, this is Ross."

"Ross?" I repeat incredulously, just to be sure. I lean back in my chair and toss my pen on the desk.

"Uh, yeah. Boy, am I glad I finally got a hold of someone." The voice that says that sounds tinny and self-conscious. "I've been trying for, like, days to get a hold of Monica and I can never reach her."

I'm pretty sure I know why that is, I want to say, but I keep quiet. "Yeah, she's probably not at the apartment," I say instead.

"Well, I tried to get a hold of her at work and they said she hasn't worked there for five months."

"Yeah. She got offered a great job in Manhattan."

"Really? That's- that's great."

"Yeah."

"So."

"So…?"

"So…"

"So, why are you calling?" I cut in, getting tired of running around this.

"Boy, you sure don't waste any time getting to the—"

"Ross. You haven't so much as written, seen, or spoken to any of us in five years. Five years!"

"I know, I—"

"I mean, we tried to keep in touch, but everything we did went unanswered and after awhile we just took the hint."

"I know. Listen, I—"

"Do you have any idea what's happened in five years?"

"I can imagine."

My eye catches sight of the frame on my desk and the picture underneath the glass and the small photo resting on top of it. I close my eyes. No, buddy, you can't. You have no idea.

"Look, Chandler, I was kind of hoping I could see you and the gang again."

"Why? What for?" I cradle the phone between my ear and shoulder and cross my arms over my chest defiantly, even though I know Ross can't see it.

"I know you have every right to be mad at me, but if we could all just meet maybe I could explain—"

I snort rudely.

"Explain? How are you going to explain to Joey and Phoebe why they suddenly didn't matter? Or Rachel. Or Monica! How are you going to explain to Monica why you couldn't even communicate with your own sister once in five years? Or your parents, Ross! You haven't spoken to them since the reception."

"I know. Believe me, Chandler, I know. You think I wanted to just forget I ever had friends or a sister of family?"

"It didn't seem like it was too damn difficult," I retort, thinking of how hurt I was—we all were—but especially Monica. "Seemed like it was pretty quick and thorough."

"Look, I had to do whatever I could to save my marriage."

"And that meant dumping your family and friends at the drop of a hat?"

"I know there's no excuse—"

"No, there isn't! Do you have any idea how hurt Rachel was? I agree that she shouldn't have crashed your wedding the way she did, but she didn't deserve the verbal abuse you and Emily gave her. And none of us deserved the freeze out you gave us just for defending her. I can understand your being upset for a while, but five goddamn years, Ross? Wars are fought and resolved in less time. And what about Joey and Phoebe? Did they deserve to be forgotten just because Queen Emily didn't like who they hung around with. And Monica. Monica, Ross."

"I _know_, Chandler," Ross says irritably.

"No, you don't _know_, Ross! You don't have a fucking clue!" I explode.

Your sister is about to have my baby in three months, but you don't know anything about that because you don't know anything about what happened in London. Or after, like our sneaking around for the first five months, our engagement and our subsequent marriage. The fact we bought a house in Westchester and that's why you can't reach Monica at the apartment—because we don't live there anymore!

And then there's my son. My unborn son, who'll greet this world in three months with his Uncle Ross possibly never knowing about him. I finger the ultrasound photo broodingly. We tried so hard to have a baby. You don't know about that either. The miscarriages, the fertility tests and the doctors. The ecstasy we felt when we made it past the first trimester and got the all clear. How much Monica and I wanted to share this with you. Help us move, and set up the nursery. To have you stand up at our wedding as best man, clink champagne glasses in our engagement toast. So much has changed since we last saw you, Ross. With everything. I've been married two years to your sister. Two wonderful years. I'll be a father soon. I have a car and a mortgage and a few gray hairs I keep pretending aren't there when I look in the mirror.

I want to scream all this at him, but instead I clamp my lips together so tightly they go numb.

"You have no fucking clue," I whisper into the silence that has taken up residence since my outburst.

"I'm sorry I called," Ross replies glumly. "I didn't mean to bother you at work."

I nod, even though Ross can't see it. Another silence ensues.

"Well, I'd, I'd better go." I nod again.

"Yeah," I finally choke out. I press my fingers to my eyebrows and try to massage away the tension there. If Monica ever found out that I had talked to her brother—if I threw away the chance of seeing her brother…

"Ross!"

"Yeah?"

"Was it worth it? Was Emily worth it?"

I wait for a response, counting my own breaths since I can't hear Ross'.

His answer is faint but definitive.

"No."

I lean forward pondering how to accept this admission.

"Goodbye, Chandler."

"Wait! I'll—I'll talk to the others. I know…I know Monica would want to see you. And I think maybe the others. If nothing more than to see with their own eyes you're still alive…and then stone you to your death."

There's a loud release of air.

"Thanks, Chandler."

"Just let me discuss it with them tonight and I'll call you tomorrow from work. Are you back in London?"

"No."

I wait for Ross to elaborate.

"So, do you want to call me again?" I prompt.

"No. No, I'm not in London. I'm in New York."

I drop the phone. "Shit," I mutter, scrambling quickly for the receiver before Ross thinks I hung up on him.

"You're in New York? Where are you staying?"

"At the Radisson on Fifth Avenue."

"Is Emily with you?" I already know the answer to that question.

"No. Look, I'd really like to have dinner with everybody tomorrow, if everything goes well."

I snort again.

"Tomorrow? That may be kind of hard to do. Some are going to take more convincing than others," I tell him.

"I know. But I really want to see everybody. The whole gang, and…and especially Rachel."

"Rachel!" She'll be the hardest of all to convince, but we both know this. I sigh.

"I'll do my best. Just let me know when and where."

"Thanks, Chandler."

"Don't mention it."

"No, I mean it. Thank you. I know I have a lot of explaining to do."

I look at the second picture on my desk, the framed one. It's a picture of Monica and I on our honeymoon. Ross isn't the only one with a lot of explaining to do.

We disconnect and I stare blankly at the meaningless jumble of papers before me. I make a decision and grab Monica's list and my blazer, briefcase and overcoat and jab the intercom button.

"Harriet, I'm taking off early today."


	2. Five reasons to just say no

"No, you should name it Joseph!"

I fight the urge to turn on my heel and bolt out the door. An hour and a half commute tonight, with the conversation with Ross and the impending discussion resonating in my skull and I walk into this cacophony.

"Jack Joseph Bing? Huh. No, I don't think so."

"Well, how about Joey?"

"Jack Joey Bing? That's even worse!"

"Worse than Jack Phoebo Bing?" Joey retorts.

"Hi sweetie," Monica blessedly interrupts, drowning out Phoebe's response. She greets me with her usual bright smile and soft kiss.

"Hi honey."

I place another kiss on her lips, needing the warmth, comfort, and stability her love has given me.

I drop my briefcase on the bench by the staircase and pull Monica in my arms. The name debate rages on beyond me.

"Mmm, I see you told everyone we had decided on a first name for the baby." I feel her cheekbone press into my chest as she smiles.

"Yeah, I didn't think you'd mind. They've been tossing around ideas for middle names."

"So I hear. Anything more original than their own?"

"Does Phoebo count?"

I shake my head and pull away.

"And how have you been, little one?" I ask Monica's stomach. I place a kiss on the swell of her belly and stroke her stomach before I am rewarded with a kick. I grin idiotically at Monica who returns my enthusiasm with a proud smile of her own. I shrug out of my overcoat and tie and pick up a bag by my briefcase and present it to Monica.

"Your asparagus and taffy, my lady."

She rips it out of my hand and digs into the taffy.

"I missed you," she says in between chews.

"I missed you, too, honey," I return absently, as I sort through the mail on the table.

"I thought about you all day," she whispers seductively, placing a series of feather-light kisses on my jaw and neck before wrapping her arms around me. I try to reciprocate, very aware of the bulge between us. I just get my arms around her waist when Jack kicks again.

"I think we're squeezing him," I say worriedly.

"He's fine," Monica reassures and kisses me passionately. Her hormones are in full swing, and basically that means she wants sex all the time. Most of the time that's fine with me, but others I'm just too damn tired.

"Mmm. Phoebe and Joey," I remind her, pulling away and giving her an affectionate squeeze. She gives me a pout in return.

"Chandler!"

I turn my attention to the kitchen, where the shout came from, and where Joey and Phoebe are playing the middle name game. They're standing on opposite sides of the counter. Coming into the room I can see Rachel perched on one of the barstools, reading Cosmo or Vogue, or one of her other fashion magazines, and drinking what is undoubtedly a diet coke, and generally ignoring the debate going around her. Joey is picking at the dinner Monica is trying to prepare while Phoebe absently stirs the ingredients in a pot on the stove.

"Hey Joe," I return and nod at Rachel and Phoebe. "Ladies."

Rachel sets her magazine down and looks from me to Monica.

"So? What's the big news?"

Joey and Phoebe stop bickering and look at me. Monica wraps her arms around me again and waits for my answer. I feel the crush of all eyes upon me. Even Jack, who usually responds to pressure against the abdomen, is unusually quiet, as though sensing the gravity of what I'm about to say.

"What is it, honey?"

Dammit. An hour and a half commute thinking of what I need to say and how I'm going to say it and I still have no idea how I'm even going to start. Oh, hell, best to just jump right in there.

"I talked to Ross today."

For two minutes after that it is so deafeningly quiet I think for sure that one of my eardrums has popped. Phoebe recovers first.

"What?!"

"I talked to Ross today."

"How? When?" Joey demands.

"Well, he opened his mouth and said something and then I opened my mouth and said something and a conversations was born." Rachel rolls her eyes.

"You saw him?" Monica murmurs. I look down into her blue, blue eyes, staring into mine so incredulously.

"No. No, I didn't see him. We talked on the phone."

"Well? What did he want?" Joey asks.

"Yeah. Don't just tell me he called up after five years to say hello!" Phoebe exclaims angrily.

I shake my head. "He wants to see us. All of us," I add, glancing at Rachel.

Once again the room is befallen with silence. Monica releases her hold and steps away from me, rubbing her stomach absently. Seeing the confusion in her eyes I long to take back everything I just said. I glance at Rachel. Her face is drawn tight with anxiety and she appears to be mulling over this piece of news worriedly.

I could tell Ross they wouldn't go for it, I reason. It's not like he would know and it wouldn't be a total shock if no one did want to see him. I mean, I think I made it pretty clear that there's still some resentment harbored about his five-year hiatus from our lives.

"What did you tell him?" Phoebe asks, looking around and taking note of Rachel's pensive face and Monica's blank look. Monica looks up attentively.

"I told him I'd talk to you guys first and go from there. I didn't promise him anything." Everybody looks incredibly relieved on hearing this piece of news. I can't think of anything else to say so I stay silent and watch everyone ponder this new turn of events. Rachel chews her lip, while Monica runs her hands over her stomach. I fight the urge to run to my secret stash of cigarettes. How I lasted this long without one is only a testimony to how much I love Monica. The pregnancy makes Monica sensitive to certain smells, and she gets sick at the barest whiff of carbon monoxide. Unfortunately for Monica I found that out the hard way. It was almost four months ago, when my company was audited and I stayed late four nights in a row, getting figures together. I broke on the last night and managed to smoke roughly half a carton.

"So what are you fixing for dinner?" I ask, shaking my head of the memory.

"Whatever you guys want," Monica finally answers, coming to life. "I'm not hungry."

"Mon," I call after her retreating form. She's surprisingly fast for being laden with twenty-five pounds of baby weight. She disappears around the corner and up the stairs without acknowledging me.

Phoebe frowns sympathetically at the space Monica just vacated, and then at Rachel hunched over the counter on her barstool.

Way to go, Chandler. Still adept at spreading the joy.

I feel like there's something I should be saying to explain all this. To make it sound logical and normal and not the earth-shattering news this is, but I don't have a clue as to what that something is.

I look to Joey, of all people, for help. He returns my silent plea with a desperate look of his own and I suddenly realize that it's up to me to convince my friends to give Ross the chance he's asking for. And for me to do that I'm going to have to swallow my own misgivings and hurt and prove it's the right thing to do.

When did I become the moral center of the group?

I sigh heavily, eliciting the solemn attention of my three friends.

"Mike working?" I ask Phoebe. She nods.

"Until eleven."

I nod in return.

"Better order a pizza, Joe. We're going to be here at least that long."

"What? Why?" Rachel asks suddenly.

"Come on, Rach. We need to discuss this."

"Discuss what?"

"Are you kidding me? Seeing Ross. Talking with him."

"What is there to talk about?"

"Rach—"

"No, really. What is there to talk about? He went off to London to marry Emily. But not before I get there and ruin everything. They manage to salvage their honeymoon and their marriage and promptly fall off the face of the earth. I mean, Ross goes on dinosaur digs for years at a time. Emily does a damn fine job on ensuring that an ocean and at least one continent always separates Ross and I, and now, five years later, they show up and want to have a nice chat? I don't think so. So we all have dinner together. Who's to say Ross and Emily won't get right back on that plane and forget us for another five years."

Hmm. It's hard to argue with that type of logic. This is really a job for Monica.

"Actually, Emily isn't with him," I inform the others.

"Are you sure?" Phoebe presses.

"Yeah. I asked him."

"Well, did they break up?" Joey asks.

"I don't know," I answer and note Rachel's interest in my response. "I didn't really delve any deeper into the subject."

"So is her here on business then or what?"

"I honestly don't know, Pheebs."

"What did you guys talk about then?" Rachel asks.

"Well, we didn't so much as talk as have periods of total silence broken by brief bursts of dialogue and, mostly, yelling."

"He yelled at you?" Joey cries incredulously.

"No, um, I yelled at him."

"Good."

"What did you yell at him for?" Phoebe inquires.

"I-I might have voiced my displeasure over the lack of communication between us...and Monica...and, you know, everything."

"Ha! See, you feel the same way we do!" Joey shouts triumphantly.

"I never said I didn't."

"Does he know about you and Monica?" Rachel breaks in.

"No, he doesn't."

"Dude, he doesn't know you knocked up his little sister?"

"No, and that's why I think we should have dinner with him. Give everybody a chance to explain."

"You and Monica, maybe," Phoebe agrees, "but I don't think that logic applies to any of us."

"How do you figure?"

"Look, you and Monica are expecting his nephew—a nephew he doesn't even know about. He's Monica's brother and you're Monica's husband, so obviously you guys would have reason to reopen lines of communication, but I just don't see why it's necessary for me, or for Joey. And really, what good is it going to do for either Ross or Rachel for them to start talking again. It just seems like everybody's headed for more heartbreak.

"You don't think it's necessary?" I repeat, watching my friends shake their heads in agreement. "Don't you want to hear why he was so damned busy that he missed not only Monica's and my wedding, but yours and Mike's as well? Joey, don't you want to know if he's seen you back on _Days of Our Lives_, or that you were in a summer blockbuster?" Though blockbuster may be too strong a word for its performance. "Don't you want to know if he thought you were great, or that your portrayal of Cecilia what's-her-name is dead on?"

"Dude! It is!"

"Rachel, don't you ever wonder if maybe he was sorry for the way reacted and what he said. Don't you guys want to know why after half a decade of birthdays and holidays and weddings and letters he never once responded to any invitation, or even sent out any of his own?" I pause and look around at the contemplative faces before me.

"Well, I do. I want to know what the reasons are. I want to know why he never answered any of my wife's letters or returned her phone calls. I want to hear what good reason he had for not standing up at my wedding—much less missing it entirely. And even though I'm still really pissed at him for all this, I want to know if he missed us as much as we missed him."

I run out of breath and fumble for more words before giving up and letting the silence engulf us once again. I check my watch and realize an hour has already passed since I got home. It's well past seven-thirty and Monica needs to eat something.

"You guys decide on dinner. I'm going to go check on Monica."


	3. It's always the messenger

I climb the stairs to our second level and peer into the nursery directly in front of me. Many times when Monica has been upset she comes up here to work out her frustrations by reorganizing and rearranging the baby's room.

It's dark now and looks as if it has not been disturbed in several hours, so I turn to my right and proceed the four feet to our bedroom door. I find myself rooted to the carpet. The door's not latched and I make out through the crack only the shadow of our bed. The covers are messed. The sound of a muffled sob rouses me from inertia.

I gently push the door open and creep in. The hall light bathes the room in a weird sort of twilight, as though the blackness of the room swallows what little light slips in.

"Mon, honey."

"Chandler." She pulls herself up from her semi-fetal position and into my arms.

"Shh, honey. Honey it will be okay, you'll see. Shh." God, I hate it when Monica cries. Great, now she's sobbing even harder.

"Chandler, I don't know if I want to see him."

"What?"

"I don't think I want to see him," she repeats quietly, punctuating each trio of words with a hiccup.

"Why not?"

She clings tighter to me and I feel Jack protest. "Mon, what's bothering you?"

I wait while she gets her tears under control. She pulls away looking scared and confused.

"I don't know," she admits. "Everything."

"Well, good, that narrows it down a bit." She gives me a dirty look, but allows me to brush away a rogue tear with my thumb.

"How are we going to explain all this?"

"All what, exactly?"

"This!" She gestures wildly with her arm, narrowly missing my shoulder with her hand. I shrug.

"The house, the car, us, the baby," she clarifies.

"Well, I think it's pretty simple."

Monica grunts.

"No, it is. We fell in love," I start, ticking each step off my fingers in the process. "We got married, got pregnant, bought a house in the suburbs and, since I still work in the city, we bought a car for the commute." I smile, proud of myself.

"You know what I mean," she retorts, unimpressed. My grin fades.

"Okay, so it's not going to be so easy," I concede. "But you know what? This is us. This is who we are now and what we are, and Ross is just going to have to accept that."

"Do you think he's going to? The last time Ross saw us I was drinking my way to spinsterhood and you were still bolting from commitment every time you got involved in a relationship."

"Hey, that's not completely true," I argue.

Monica gives me a look.

"I wanted to commit."

"To who? Janice."

"At one time Janice. Aren't you glad I didn't?"

"Aren't _you_?"

She has a point there.

"Hey, when the right woman came along I stepped up to the plate," I defend. "I committed to her. It wasn't even that hard."

Just absolutely terrifying.

She gives me a knowing look. "I know."

"Anyway, Ross changed. We never thought he would just forget about us and look what happened. We're all going to have to accept the fact that things are different now with all of us."

"Exactly!" Monica exclaims, jumping up.

"Things have changed. I've changed. I've spent five years learning to live without a brother and falling in love with his best friend and getting married and developing my career and being happy and trying for a baby and now we're going to have one and I'm so, so, happy with you and my life, and I've learned to accept that I don't have my brother here to share these things with because he made the decision to step away from our lives and now he wants to pop back into them with discussions and explanations and, Chandler, I don't want to discuss anything! I don't want to explain anything. And I don't want to hear the reasons why he couldn't be apart of all this—" she gestures wildly again—"because nothing excuses him from our lives!"

"I agree."

"Wh-what?"

"You're right."

She frowns at me suspiciously as though I'm trying to trick her. It's quite amusing to see the wind taken out of her sails. She opens and closes her mouth a couple of times, searching for the right words to regain some thread of her righteous indignation. It's quite a rare sight to see Monica thrown by an admission she already assumes in any given argument.

"Nothing excuses him from our lives. But he's making a gesture here, Monica. He contacted me. He wants to get together with everyone and talk. He's trying to put things right. I think he knows there's the possibility we may not forgive him. He knows that what he has to say may not excuse what he did and the void he left in the group. But he's trying. I think we owe it to him to at least listen."

* * *

"So what's our plan of action?" Monica asks, shoveling the crust of her pizza into her mouth. It's her fourth slice. Joey just started his fifth and Phoebe, Rachel and I are still muddling through our second and third respectively.

"Plan?" Rachel repeats.

"Yeah. We need a plan. We can't just walk in there without a plan."

"That's a good idea." Phoebe agrees.

"Do we really need a plan?" I ask.

"Of course. Come on you guys. We haven't seen Ross in forever. And we didn't all part ways on the best of terms. Things are going to be intense. Emotions will be running high. We need a plan so we don't get distracted and bogged down by our feelings and lose control of the situation. Defeat is not an option."

"We're not going into battle, Mon," I say.

"You don't know that," Phoebe argues. "Monica's right. Things could turn ugly. We need an escape plan."

"Mmm," Rachel nods enthusiastically. "Definitely."

Joey polishes off his fifth slice and reaches for his beer.

"Right!" Monica beams. She shifts slightly, stretching out her left leg before tucking it under her again. We're sitting in the family room, one of the few rooms with actual places to sit.

About half of the house is furnished—the bulk of the furniture coming from the apartment. The breakfast nook has the table and chairs from our apartment, while the formal dining is empty, except for three boxes of china. I promised Monica we would have a dining room set by Thanksgiving and it's already early October. With the move, and work, and Jack we just haven't found the time.

Or I haven't, at any rate. Monica, if I remember right, has already gone furniture shopping with both Rachel and Phoebe and has narrowed the dining room down to two choices.

The living room is also mostly empty, save for two potted plants and an old RCA stereo record player set in a wood cabinet that came with the house. It still works, too. Monica wanted to get rid of it, but the night we moved in I plugged it in and put on a Henry Mancini LP I found in the cabinet. We lit some candles and poured two flutes of grape juice and slow danced through both sides of the record. When that was over we put on a little Percy Faith and made love to "Theme for Young Lovers".

Now Monica is trying to find end tables to match the dark mahogany of the cabinet and a living set that would accentuate the room.

The only two rooms we've bought furnishings for are my office and Jack's room. A large oak desk, matching file cabinet, and black leather executive chair fill most of the space in that room, and Jack's crib rests against the wall in its box, waiting patiently for the time when I'll put it together. I told Monica that is one of things I want to do for Jack, although what will most likely happen is I'll invite Joey over to help. We'll spend half the day deciphering the directions while sipping beers and at the end of the day the thing will be put together by an exasperated Monica.

The kitchen is state of the art, which is one of the main reasons why we settled on this house. It has two ovens and a large stove, an island, lots of cabinet space and ceramic-tiled floors. The four barstools were the first purchases Monica made for the room.

Upstairs the situation isn't much different from the ground level. Jack's room contains a dresser and the boxed crib, a bassinet and changing table, and a rocker/glider that we bought when we picked out the barstools. The master bedroom has our bed, dresser, and nightstand from the apartment, but the room is much larger than our former one, so it still looks pretty empty. Monica and I are trying to decide whether we'd like to get a whole new bedroom set or just add a couple miscellaneous pieces. I earned a substantial bonus this summer and most of it we have earmarked for furniture purchases, but it's not going to be enough to furnish—or refurnish—the entire house, so I suspect we'll probably just add a few pieces.

We do have one of the upstairs bedrooms completely furnished and set up for guests. The "beautiful guestroom" transplanted nicely from the city to our new digs in the suburbs, but so far no one but Monica appreciates the hospitality. The remaining bedroom is filled with boxes of clothes, books, and other junk from the move and our apartment—stuff I actually hadn't seen since the days when I first moved in across the hall from Monica and Phoebe. That room is rather like Monica's junk closet in the apartment—it's practically overflowing with uncategorized crap and closed off from the rest of the house.

But the family room, it's almost an exact replica of the living room in the apartment. I think maybe in a year or so we'll change it—add a playpen or entertainment center, but for now it's going to remain true to the space we always gathered in. The only difference is behind me there is a wall separating the gourmet kitchen from the couch instead of the open space, across from me are the windows instead of to the left, and to the right is a door leading out to our semi-wraparound porch.

Otherwise, it's like always. Rach, sitting next to me on the couch, stretches her legs on the coffee table, while Phoebe has her feet tucked under her on the big comfy chair. Joey and Mon sit on the floor, the coffee table and three boxes of pizza between them.

"So, first things first: we need to decide where we're going to meet," Monica announces.

"Someplace nice," Phoebe puts in.

"And Ross pays," Rachel adds. I roll my eyes. Phoebe nods in agreement.

"That's a good idea. If something bad happens we can just leave and stick Ross with the bill."

"You guys—" I start to interrupt, but Monica just ignores me and continues on. I roll my eyes again and look at Joey for support. He's staring at his pizza as if it just offered to spend the night with him. I sigh and decide that letting the girls coordinate battle plans is probably the least painful way to go at this point. They'll stumble on strategy somewhere and hopefully I can manage to talk some sense into everyone in the ensuing silence.

"And it shouldn't be any place we like, in case things get a little bit wild and one of us yells or screams, or throws our drink in Ross' face, 'cause I'd still like to show my face around here," Phoebe points out.

"Mmm," they all agree.

"You guys automatically assume everything's going to go wrong," Joey puts in, providing a welcome dose of pragmatism.

"Well," Rachel begins, "Monica's got Chandler's bun in her oven, you and Phoebe are mad cause you haven't seen or talked to him in ages and there's the whole Ross/Rachel thing with us, and my whole…situation. I think we have to go with the odds, here, Joe, of things being pretty unpleasant tomorrow."

"There's not much happiness we can salvage in this first meeting," Phoebe agrees.

"First?"

"Yeah, come on, you guys. Do you honestly expect Ross to absorb everything and turn around and be like, 'So Joe, great seeing you on _Days_, man'? Or Chandler, 'Yeah, thanks for impregnating my sister'? I mean, no matter what he tells us, we're probably not going to be like, 'Uh-huh, so, yeah, you have no good reason for not seeing us for five years, but hey, how about that Saltriosaur?'"

We all frown.

"That new species of dinosaur they discovered in Italy a few years ago? Supposed to be one of the oldest carnivores." Phoebe clarifies.

"Oh, yeah, right," We all nod intelligently, and judging by everyone's expression still have no idea what she's talking about.

Phoebe's got a point, I admit to myself. I wonder if it's realistic for everyone to expect to have everything sorted out during a two-hour dinner. I hope Ross doesn't expect it.

Monica shifts again, and I touch her shoulder and make a motion for her to stand up and take a seat next to me. She shouldn't be sitting on the floor in her condition anyway. She shakes her head stubbornly and indicates a new slice of pizza she's working on. I sure hope our baby can stand that much garlic. I slip my hands under her armpits and motion gently for her to stand. She does, grudgingly, and takes a seat next to me, rolling her eyes. She thinks I worry too much about her and the baby. What the hell am I supposed to do? I'm the husband and the expectant father. These are the two most important persons—important things—in my life. I'm not about to let anything or anyone jeopardize it.

And truth be told, Rachel's remark about Monica's and my bun hit an already sore nerve. I'm not sure how Ross will react to our…redefined relationship, but jumping for joy is not something I see him doing initially.

I suppress a sigh of frustration. This is going to be one big mess for a long time. I toss my pizza crust onto the box and lean back against the couch. Monica glances curiously at me, and return her look of concern with a brief smile of reassurance. The discussion of when and where goes on without me. I've long since washed my hands of this particular debate—the only part I'm willing to play is that of Ross' messenger.

I just pray that old adage doesn't eventually prove true.


	4. Dinner with Friends

Monica looks absolutely radiant. She's chatting amiably with a woman she works with as we wait for our table, and Ross. Pregnancy definitely becomes her. Her skin positively glows, and her smile, always beautiful, seems wider and brighter than I've ever known it. A baby certainly agrees with her. She's happy and I played an integral part in that.

I watch her chatter on with her coworker friend. I can tell the exact point in the conversation when the topic turns to the baby. Monica beams and rubs her swollen stomach. She looks down at her abdomen, as though she can see through the layers of clothing, skin, and tissue to catch a glimpse of Jack and then looks over at me. She smiles so happily. I return her grin as she continues to beam, answering her friend's questions without ever breaking eye contact with me.

This is what I live for: her smile and this feeling that everything in her life is perfect and I helped make it that way. It's a nice feeling to have in light of recent news. Her coworker says something to Monica and we finally break eye contact. I turn my attention back to the bar and the drink before me. We've been here for twenty minutes waiting not only for Ross but also for Rachel and Joey. Phoebe tosses back what must be her third drink and turns to me.

"What the hell is taking them so long?"

"Rachel and Joey?"

"Rachel, Joey, Ross. The waiter. Monica. The damned bartender and those bar nuts he promised a half an hour ago!" she yells, causing me to wince and several other patrons seated near us to scoot away.

"Uh, they'll all be here soon. We still have about ten minutes until they'll seat us at our table." Phoebe makes a face. I cast a frantic look at Monica but now she's by the coat check talking on her cell phone.

"So...what did Ross say?"

"Not much."

"Was he thrilled we all agreed to meet?"

"Grateful was more like it."

Phoebe nods in understanding. Truth was I didn't really give Ross an opportunity voice his feelings on the matter. About ten minutes to quitting time I had my secretary patch me through to his hotel room and told Ross we would meet him at eight for dinner, hoped that worked for him (it did, he was able to put in), said my goodbye and hung up. After the crappy night's sleep I had, and the emotional toll of dreading this meeting and of a busy day of putting together figures for an important upcoming presentation, I wasn't feeling real sympathetic to the source of at least two of those problems and a migraine. Not to mention Monica was tossing and turning all night, to the point of relegating me to the couch downstairs and some late-night infomercial TV. She claimed the pizza upset her stomach, and after watching her eat eight slices I am inclined to agree that had to be part of it, but I think the meeting with her brother was preying on her mind, too.

I rub my eyes tiredly and try not to drown my frustrations in another swig of my scotch on the rocks. Unlike Phoebe it's still my first, and actually, other than an initial sip, I've barely touched it. It's more Monica's brand of liquor than mine, but after the past two days I'm ready to try and relax. And I think being mellow would be a good idea after not seeing or hearing from Ross in five years. However, being flat out drunk is pretty much guaranteed to piss Monica off, so I hold off on ordering another drink. After all, I have to pace myself through the meal. I do take some of the peanuts the bartender sets in front of Phoebe.

"Okay, Rachel just called. She says the babysitter just arrived and she'll be here in about fifteen minutes," Monica says, setting her purse on the counter. She attempts to take a seat on the barstool and after a couple tries finally manages a stable perch on the stool with a steadying hand from me. I retake my seat and slide the bowl of nuts down the bar and Monica grabs a handful gratefully.

"Thank you, sweetie, I'm starving." I guessed as much. When she's not horny, she's hungry. Or both.

"What about Joey?" Phoebe asks.

"He'll be here as soon as they're done filming. He had to re-shoot a scene. But he should be here shortly," I reply.

We munch silently for a while, each of us lost in our own thoughts about a friend's response to changes we all claim to be unconcerned about.

I glance at Monica, taking in the way her black wrap dress hugs her curves; the swell of her swollen breasts and belly; the sleek shape of her hips and legs. She's never looked sexier. Or more worried.

Everybody is trying to maintain a poker face to seeing Ross again and we're all failing miserably. The sad fact is as much as we claim to be indifferent to any negative response--even after five years of absolutely nothing--Ross' opinion still means something to every person in this group.

Monica especially. She wants Ross to be as happy as she is about the baby, the house, her job...and me.

"Everything's going to be okay," I offer, leaning over to whisper in her ear. She flashes a wry smile and picks at her peanuts. Not satisfied with the lukewarm response, I try again.

"You look beautiful, by the way." I gently place a kiss on the hand I've risen tot my lips. She gives me a nervous smile, but I can tell she's pleased with my comment. I squeeze her hand and replace it next to her water.

She picks at her pile of nuts, twitching her hand as though she's arguing inside her head. She takes a deep breath and turns to me.

"Okay. I'm a little nervous about tonight," she admits, placing both hands on my forearm.

"We'll get through it," I promise. I place a soft kiss on the corner of her mouth.

"All right, you guys, get a room," comes a disgusted voice behind me. I place another kiss solidly on Monica's lips before offering a rather insincere apology.

"Sorry, Pheebs."

"Yeah, sorry, honey," Monica offers.

"No. No. I'm sorry. I'm just so frustrated!"

"Still no luck, huh?"

"I don't understand it. I got pregnant with triplets—triplets! You'd think wanting to get pregnant with one would be easy."

"Honey, you've only been trying for a couple of months. Chandler and I tried for almost a year and a half before we finally got our baby." I munch a few peanuts and nod in agreement.

"You just have to be patient. I know it's hard, sweetie. You may have some...some disappointments," Monica's expressions darkens, and I know she's thinking of the two miscarriages and all the negative pregnancy tests," but then again you may get lucky soon."

"I know. I know. You're right. It's just Mike and I are ready to start a family and I think it would be just great if all our kids were around the same age. I mean, we could have picnics and play dates and birthday parties, and maybe they'll all be really close like us, you know? Then we'd always have a reason to keep in touch because our kids would be like, 'Hey mom, I want to go shopping with Emma' or 'Jack and I are going to the park to play baseball'."

"Yeah, that would be great," Monica replies dreamily. "And we can all compare horror stories of potty-training, and give advice on how best to treat a cold, or allergies, or how to make the best birthday cake."

"Uh-huh, exactly!" Phoebe exclaims.

"I know what you mean. It'll happen, you'll see. Just keep trying," Monica advises, "that's what we did."

Yeah, that and about half a dozen fertility tests and treatments, over a year's worth of ovulation calculations and perfecting the best sexual position for conceiving.

"So, anything you guys recommend to, you know, speed up the process?" Phoebe asks, throwing back what appears to be another tequila shot.

"Less alcohol in your diet?" I suggest.

"I don't know. It worked for Rachel," Phoebe points out.

"That's true," Monica concedes. "Actually, there's this one position," Monica lights up. "It kind of hurt Chandler's back a couple of times, but believe me, even if you don't wind up pregnant, it's totally worth it."

"Says you," I interject, "and are you really going to tell this story?" I stare at Mon incredulously. She pats my arm reassuringly and continues without missing a beat. "It's great for you, you know, deep penetration—"

"Oh my god," I moan. I squeeze my eyes shut and try to block out the sound of my wife trading intimate secrets with our friend.

"—And it does help if you're a little limber," Monica rambles on, ignoring me.

"Oh, that's not a problem," Phoebe reassures. I squeeze my eyes tighter, and seriously consider putting my fingers in my ears to block the sound. And making a "Lalalalalala" noise to ensure I don't hear any snippets of this conversation.

"Anyway, you're sort of in this position and the guy—Chandler—is—"

"Mr. Bing, your table is ready," the maitre' d blessedly informs us.

"Yes! Thank you, oh, thank you!" I jump off my stool and just refrain from hugging him. Instead I pump his hand up and down in an enthusiastic handshake and turn to help Monica down from her perch. She smirks at my flustered behavior.

"If you weren't pregnant," I murmur half-threateningly as I guide her to our waiting host. She grins cheekily at my half-hearted glare.

"You still wouldn't do anything," she responds, nonplussed. She squeezes my arm affectionately and takes her proffered seat. Phoebe slides into the chair across from Monica and I wearily settle into the one next to Monica. The waiter and I exchange pleasantries and dinner party info, before we're left with our menus.

Phoebe takes a sip of her water as Monica and I peruse our dinner choices.

"So, anyway, you were saying?" she prompts after a long silence, grinning wickedly at my groan.

Monica looks at me fondly, pats my knee consolingly, and leans forward with a mischievous grin.

"Where was I? Oh, yes, the guy. So he's—"

I drop my head in resignation, glancing up when I think I hear a giggle come from my right.

Oh, well, at least I succeeded in putting a smile on Monica's face.

Fortunately after spending another ten minutes further embarrassing me, the topic turns to Phoebe's upcoming Halloween party. Phoebe and Mike are going as Sonny and Cher. Monica's worried about going, seeing as she can't think of anything good to dress as—other than a cow or beach ball. I make the mistake of jokingly suggesting she go as the Great Pumpkin and spend several minutes after polishing the bloodstains off the fork Monica rammed into my thigh.

By the time Joey arrives fifteen minutes later we've all decided what we're going to order, Phoebe's had what I'm sure is her fifth cocktail, and I've checked my wristwatch at least half a dozen times.

He's late.

Unbelievable.

Granted, so is Rachel, but after all the finagling I had to do to convince everyone to meet for this dinner, the jackass doesn't have the decency to be punctual.

I'm just about to interrupt Joey and Phoebe's discussion on the merits of prosthetics in a nude scene when I hear the quiet clearing of a throat. The sound is so quiet I almost miss it, but amazingly it manages to elicit the undivided attention of everyone at our table. All heads turn to the source. Ross regards us solemnly.

"Hi," he utters softly.

It's all anyone can do to for a reply.

"H-hi," Phoebe finally stutters. I nod dumbly in agreement.

"Is this seat taken?" Ross asks with a hollow laugh, pointing to an empty chair at the end of the table.

Somehow we all manage a weak smile in return and Ross takes a seat. Another silence descends. I can actually hear the ticking of the second hand as it winds its way around my watch. Monica's leg brushes up against mine as she jiggles her knee nervously. I wonder briefly if the baby is responding to the tension as well.

No one looks at anyone else. We all stare at our menus, silverware, and the tablecloth design as solemnity continues to engulf our table.

I desperately search for something witty to say, but when nothing comes to mind I resolve to stay silent.

Unfortunately, everyone else seems to have come to the resolution as well.

I'm very aware of the fact there seems to be no safe topic to broach. Every question that threatens to fall from my lips is loaded with accusation no matter how innocuous.

"So," Ross clears his throat, "have you guys already decided what to order?"

A seemingly safe question, but there's a long pause before anyone is brave enough to answer him.

"Y-yeah," Joey replies, meeting Ross' eyes. "We were just waiting on you and Rachel."

Ross' eyes immediately snap to the remaining chair at our table. Phoebe and I exchange glances, while Joey frowns, and Monica's leg stops bumping into mine.

"Rachel's...Rachel's not—"

"She'll be here shortly," Phoebe cuts in. "She had to wait on—"she stops abruptly, unsure of how to proceed with the information that Rachel now has a baby daughter with a delinquent baby-sitter.

"She should be here any minute," she finishes instead, exchanging looks with Monica and I.

Ross nods and goes back to perusing his menu. "So, um, anybody know what's good here? I've never eaten here before."

"Really, because it's been open for two years, but, oh, that's right, you haven't been here in a while, have you?" Monica snipes.

Ahh, so the tongue-lashing begins.

Ross glances warily out the corner of his eye at his sister. She smiles sweetly and continues in a slightly more congenial tone. "The roast duck is excellent."

"Thank you," Ross acknowledges. "I think I'll order that, then."

"Be careful, you know, not to choke on any bones," Phoebe adds ever so helpfully. Ross' wary glance slides to the other side to consider Phoebe.

"I'll try." His line of vision dips to inventory the amount of alcohol Phoebe's consumed before returning to its previous level. He takes a slow turn about the table, carefully studying faces he hasn't seen since Clinton was in office.

If any changes startle him he doesn't show it. My pulse skyrockets when he turns his attention to Monica. This is it, I think wildly. This is when we tell him. She doesn't return his look, but merely stares down determinedly at the plate she's leaning over, elbows crossed on the edge of the table. In fact, in her current position it's difficult to tell she's pregnant what with where the table edge falls on her abdomen and the tablecloth slightly covering her bump. It also probably helps that I'm in between the two, blocking any clear views of the obvious changes in Monica's body. I watch nervously as Ross takes in the shape of her face, waiting for the inevitable realization that something is drastically different with his only sister.

Nothing ever comes. After studying Monica for a few more seconds he focuses on me. I realize that Ross is looking to me to help him bridge the conversational divide. Great. By negotiating this meeting, I'm now expected to help play mediator in this mess.

"So..." I begin with a sigh and come to an abrupt halt, as I realize I have no idea what to say.

Ross looks on encouragingly.

"You made it."

"Yup."

I nod and smile tightly. Monica glances at me in annoyance but doesn't contribute anything to the fledgling conversation.

"H-how long have you been in New York?" Joey jumps in.

"Since Tuesday," Ross responds, carefully repositioning his napkin.

"What are you here for?" Phoebe asks and we all look at her before turning to Ross for the response.

"Sorry!" Five heads jerk at the cry.

"Sorry, oh, excuse me ma'am, sir, sorry. Hey guys. Sorry I'm late. Shannon can not be on time to save her life," Rachel chuckles, sliding into the empty chair opposite of Ross. Distantly, it registers in the back of my mind that all the girls are on one end and the guys on the other—almost like old times and its boys against girls in some game or challenge. But it's very clear when Rachel looks across the table and Ross meets her eye that there's nothing amusing about what's going on here.

"Hi," Rachel offers, the smile disappearing and a guarded expression taking its place.

Ross nods once. "Hello, Rachel."

Joey gives me a resigned look and I smile tightly in agreement.

Here we go.


	5. Revealing conversations

Somewhat short AN: I apologize for the delay. I went on vacation for two weeks and actually didn't think I would work on anything while I was gone, but I did and here's the first posting of my efforts. Also, someone mentioned in the feedback about Emma's sudden appearance and I just wanted to issue an apology for that as well. Her appearance _was_ sort of abrupt and I apologize for just springing her on you guys, but I had debated up until the last minute on whether (and how) to have her exist in my _friends_ world, considering the obvious obstacles with her paternity. Fortunately I think I have all those kinks worked out now (insert Phoebe's evil laugh).

P.S. Thank you all very much for your feedback.

-000-

I cast an apologetic glance at Monica (who's still staring down at her plate and therefore likely misses it) before shooing the waiter away with my order for vodka straight up (double). The tension at the table has forced my hand at sobriety. Screw sober. The only way to survive this dinner is vodka, and lots of it. As it is, the air around the table is so cold that if I lean too far to the left I'm afraid some important body parts will start freezing, and judging by Rachel's reciprocal expression subzero temperatures can be found at the other end of the table. I'm tempted tell Monica to put on a sweater.

"Excuse me," a pretty redhead interrupts. She's standing between Ross and Joey and has a sort of awestruck smile on her face. Scratch that. Star struck. Sure enough her next question confirms what I suspected.

"Are you Joey Tribbiani from _Days of Our Lives_?"

Joey grins disarmingly and the girl practically wilts at the gesture. I catch Monica's eye and we both roll ours heavenward before I shake my head in disgust and Monica smiles.

"Yes. Yes, I am," Joey replies easily.

"Ahh!" she shrieks and Joey's smile falters for just a second before returning. Ross' brow is furrowed so deep it has to be painful.

"Oh my God! I just love you! You're, like, my favorite character. And when you became Jessica Lockhart—wow! How incredible was that?"

I snicker in amusement before Monica slaps my knee. I shrug in defense. Joey keeps smiling.

"Could I have your autograph, please?"

"Well...I'm..."

"Oh, please. I'm so sorry to interrupt your dinner and I wouldn't dream of inconveniencing you, but it's just... you're my favorite actor and you're well, oh, God, this is so stupid, but you're so hot!"

"It's no problem," Joey quickly assures her. Red beams giddily. "Uh, do you have a pen?"

"Oh, um—"she looks around frantically as Ross watches the whole exchange with a mixture of confusion and curious amusement.

"So, are you all ready to order?" Our waiter appears, pen and tab at the ready.

"May I?" Red asks, snatching his pen away before he can object.

"Okay," Joey says, looking for something to write on. Cute redhead searches her pockets before pouting in disappointment. Slowly they both turn to the waiter who resignedly rips a tab sheet off and hands it to Joey.

"Okay, who do I make this out to?"

"Heather," Heather says.

"Heather? That's my favorite name," Joey informs her.

"Really? I always thought it was boring."

"Heather? Are you kiddin' me? I love that name. A hot name for a hot girl."

"Gosh, with so much love in the air I sure hope I can keep my dinner down," I mutter. Something rams my shin and I wince in pain. Joey's eyes flicker momentarily away from schmoozing Heather before he continues.

"Thank you," Heather blushes prettily.

"No problem." He starts marking on the tab sheet. "Now, what do you want me to write?" Heather looks at a loss before Joey snaps his fingers. "'Heather,'" he writes, "'How _you_ doin?'"

Heather seems to think this is practically poetic genius because she openly fawns her tab sheet before letting out a—I'm guessing—contented shriek. Joey's smile falters again for another moment before returning as Heather gives Joey a quick hug and Joey takes the opportunity to let his hands do a little walking. She giggles deliriously and trips away from our table with a little wave.

Joey turns back to us with a smug smile.

"A hot name for a hot girl?" Ross repeats.

"What?"

"I can't believe you're still milking your _Days of Our Lives_ gig. How many years has it been since you were on that show?"

"What do you mean?" Joey asks, upset. "I'm still on it."

"I thought you were fired," Ross explains.

"Oh, that," Joey answers with relief. He shrugs. "No about three years ago I was offered to return as Drake Ramoray."

"Offered? Uh, let' still the story like it really was," I cut in.

Joey shoots me an evil glare. "Am I not on DOOL as Dr. Drake Ramoray?"

"DOOL?" Ross interrupts.

"_Days of Our Lives_," Phoebe supplies helpfully.

"Ah."

"Technically, no. You're on _Days_ portraying Jessica Lockhart."

"Who?" Ross interrupts again.

"Yes, but in Drake Ramoray's _body_," Joey emphasizes.

Ross shakes his head. "I'm sorry, what?"

"Yeah, see after I accepted the part of Drake Ramoray again—"Joey begins, adding another bruise to my shin at my ill-disguised snort, "they wrote another character out of the show. Cecilia Monroe had been on the show for, like, twenty years, and when they killed off her character they gave me her brain!" Joey leans back proudly.

"What? What do you mean 'they gave you her brain'?"

"They performed a brain transplant."

I stifle another snort at Ross' raised eyebrows.

"A brain transplant?" Ross repeats incredulously.

"Yes. It was a highly controversial procedure," Joey adds solemnly. Ross lets out a disbelieving laugh and rubs his eyes.

"So, now, because of this brain '_transplant'_"—Ross makes air quotations around the word, "You're a woman."

I smother another snicker with a thinly disguised cough. Joey shoots another evil glare my way.

"No, I _play_ a woman."

"Right."

"Trapped in Drake Ramoray's body," Joey reminds him.

"Right. The brain—" Ross twitches his jaw—"transplant."

"Exactly." Joey nods.

"Hmm." Ross glances at me out of the corner of his eye. This time I don't bother to conceal my smirk.

"Wow. Huh, wow, that's, that's great Joe. I'm really happy for you. Sounds like everything's going pretty well in your life."

"Can't complain," Joey agrees.

"Ooh!" Phoebe exclaims. "Tell him about your role in _The Abysmal_."

"The what?"

"It's his movie," Phoebe explains.

"You're in a movie?"

"Yeah. Starts shooting in a few months. I'm costarring with Eric Roberts, Julia's brother."

"Julia who?" Ross asks.

"Julia Roberts," Rachel snaps, startling all of us.

"Sorry," Ross offers, shifting a wary eye to Rachel. "Wow. A starring role."

"Yup."

"Can't wait to see it."

"Comes out April 2006."

"I'll be there. Wow, your first feature film."

There's a moment of silence as we all process what's been said in these last few minutes: the promise from Ross, which is optimistic at best and outright overly ambitious at worst. Right now, a promise from Ross doesn't really mean a whole hell of a lot, but at least everybody is polite enough not to say it to his face. Or maybe not. The subsequent pause seems to have slapped a dose of perspective in Ross' face as he realizes he's just made a critical misstep in his plan to bring us all together again. Two missteps, actually.

One, that his promises really aren't worth shit at this point; and two, that he's missed at least one important advancement in Joey's life (and arguably two with his not knowing of Joey's return to _Days_) and that only serves to remind us that there's even more in each of our respective lives he's missed out on.

"Second, actually," Joey corrects after a short silence, "but, thanks."

There's another lull in conversation, Ross no doubt debating his next topical move-- whether to tackle the subject of Joey's first feature or to move on to other topics.

"So are you still living with Chandler now that you're a successful actor again?"

I shift uncomfortably, wishing Ross hadn't given up so easily on Joey's career. Joey does the same.

"Uh, no. No."

"Ahh. Got your own place again, huh?" Ross smiles knowingly.

"Weeelll," Joey hedges, "kind of." He looks at me for help.

"You get a new roommate again, or did you decide to live by yourself, like a real adult?" Ross asks me, trying to inject a jocular vibe into the conversation.

"Uh, well," I cast about frantically for an answer that won't commit me to the discussion I know I need to have with Ross, "No. No. I got a new roommate."

I look to Monica for help, but she only stares back, uncertain as I am how to broach this uncomfortable topic. Apparently the possible implications of our silent exchange are lost on Ross because he rambles on with more questions.

"Nice guy?"

"Huh?"

"You new roommate. Is he a pretty nice guy?"

"Woman. And yes, she's wonderful." My head whips around to Monica so fast I'm sure I'll feel the effects of whiplash later on tonight. Monica shifts her attention away from Ross for only a second but I understand her intentions.

Dear God. We're finally going to do this.

"Your...roommate is a girl. _You're_ living with a girl?"

"Yeah." I nod, trying to calm my rolling stomach. Where the hell is my drink?

"What, is she hot?"

I look at Monica as though seeking her opinion before turning back to Ross.

"Yeah," I admit.

Monica nudges my ankle with her foot.

"Really? What's she doing living with you then?" Ross smirks at his oh-so-subtle put down. The joke's on him, though, I can't help thinking.

"What does she do?" Ross continues taking a bite of the salad our server just set before him. I quickly down my vodka and ask for another.

"She's a chef," Monica answers boldly, taking a bite out of her own salad.

Ross stops chewing. He eyes me suspiciously as he presents his next question. "So, do I by chance know your roommate?"

Shit. Well, here goes.

"Who knows? They say it's a small world out there." I reply.

"How small?"

"Uh, um, well, you've met Monica, haven't you?"

"My sister?" Ross spews, bits of lettuce and cucumber laying waste to the clean white tablecloth.

"Oh, you do know her? I guess it _is_ a small world after all." I shut up after meeting Ross' glare.

"You're living with my sister?"

"Yeah," I confirm and wait for the next burst of steam from Mt. Ross.

"Did you give up the apartment or did he move in with you?" Ross asks Monica.

She chews on her salad for a little bit as she considers how to answer.

"He moved in initially," she finally says.

"Initially? Wh-wh-what do you mean 'initially'?" Ross looks around at three bent heads studiously munching on their salads before returning to Monica. But instead of waiting for her answer he zeroes in on me.

"Care to elaborate on that, Chandler?"

"Well, I moved out of Joey's and my apartment and moved into Monica's."

"Why?"

That's a loaded question if I ever I heard one.

"Well, you see—"

"Oh, Monica!" Six heads snap up in surprise at the intrusion.

"Hey, Maxine," Monica greets. I recognize Maxine as the coworker friend Monica was talking with earlier.

"Hey, Chandler," she offers a small nod of greeting. "Sorry to interrupt your dinner, but I just wanted to say goodbye and wish you good luck. I hope everything goes smoothly these last few months, especially the delivery."

"Oh, thanks Maxine." Yes, thanks Maxine. "Have a great time in Paris. I'll see you in six months."

"I want to see that baby."

"I'll bring him in," Monica promises with a tight smile. Maxine grins and leans down. "Take care of yourself girl," Maxine hugs Mon and directs her next Judas kiss to me.

"You see to it she doesn't work too hard."

"Will do," I manage, very aware of the pair of eyes following every particular word of this conversation, not to mention the three other pairs miserably feigning disinterest.

"Okay. Have fun at Lamaze. Bye guys." Hurricane Maxine waves to the rest of the table.

I'm certain any second now I'm going to pass out or throw up or maybe even spontaneously combust.

"Baby?" Ross echoes. "Lamaze class?"

Another hush falls over our table as Ross waits for someone to explain. Monica sits up as she inhales a deep breath.

She looks at Ross.

"I'm pregnant."


	6. Waiter, there's a Ross in my Soup

AN: Very, very, very, very VERY sorry for the delay. I hope this chapter makes up for it. Probably from now on there will be a new post about once a month. I'm trying to work on some other stories and job hunt, so I'm not sure when I'll post next. Thanks to all who remembered this story and took time to review and encourage me to get with it.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Wh-what?"

"I'm pregnant," Monica repeats, sitting back and allowing Ross a view of her round belly. He gapes at it dumbfounded.

"How far along are you?"

"About six months. Twenty-six weeks, actually."

"Who's the father?"

Ahh, the money question. I open my mouth and attempt to summon my courage.

"I am."

That proclamation came easier than I expected. I sit back and wait calmly for the inevitable explosion. Ross' eyes dart to my face in incredulity.

"You knocked up my sister!" Ross shouts, eliciting the attention of everyone in the restaurant, some people on the sidewalk, and a group of senior quilters three buildings away.

"Shh," I hiss, trying to quiet Ross down, "not exactly."

"Not, n-not exactly? Well, what, _exactly_, do you call that?" He gestures to Monica's grossly distended abdomen.

"Okay, that looks bad," I agree, "but hear me out."

"Hear you out?" he roars, and over his shoulder I can see the maitre'd whispering to our waiter. "You _slept_ with my sister!"

"It wasn't like that!" I protest feebly. Oh, God, I am going down in _flames_.

"Uh, excuse me? I have a son. Trust me. To get that—"again Ross gestures to Monica's stomach, "—it's exactly 'like that'. I can't believe you'd do that! Monica, what were you thinking?" he adds not missing a breath.

"Uh, excuse me?" she retorts testily.

"Oh, God, this wasn't some I'm-never-gonna-get-married-and-have-a-baby-biological-clock-ticking-sperm-donor kind of thing, was it?"

"What?!"

"Mon, I know how much you want a baby, but believe me you could have found somebody to spend your whole life with and raise a family. The right guy is out there. He's caring loving, and a wonderful father _and_ a wonderful _husband_," he emphasizes. "You don't have to settle."

"Gee, thanks," I reply sarcastically.

"And you," he says turning to me red-faced, "I can't believe you went along with this."

"Along with what?" I expel.

"This…this.._this_." He gestures to Monica. I cross my arms over my chest. "I thought you'd have a little more common sense than to go along with a plan like this. I mean, really, what did you do? Leap at the chance to screw my sister?"

My mouth drops open in surprise.

"Hey!" Both Phoebe and Rachel exclaim.

"I didn't just screw your sister," I state furiously. "How can you even say that? I've always treated your sister with respect."

"Oh, come on. I know you used to have the hots for her."

Rachel and Phoebe look over at me with interest.

"She's depressed," Ross continues, undaunted, "wants to have a baby, and you're presented with an opportunity you can't say no to."

The scary thing is, there is some small sliver of truth in Ross' accusations as to how we really came together. I wouldn't necessarily say I leapt at the chance, but I certainly hopped. And just substitute "slightly drunk and willing" for "wants to have a baby" and there's pretty much the story of London.

"Hey, that's not fair to Chandler!" Joey cries.

"Yeah!" Rachel chimes in. "You don't know Chandler at all if you really think that."

"And besides, what makes you think out of all the guys Monica could ask for sperm she would choose Chandler," Phoebe pipes in. "I mean, there are much better guys than Chandler." Thanks, Pheebs. "Take Joey, for instance."

Joey gives Phoebe a pleased smile.

"Look," Monica snaps, the word firing out of her mouth with the effect of a pistol shot. "I wasn't settling, or looking for a sperm donor. Chandler's sweet, he's smart, and funny. He's caring, he me treats with respect and love. He's a great husband, and I know he'll be a great father." She smiles at me, sending a welcome blast of heat in her otherwise icy expression.

"Husband?" Ross intones, wrinkling his forehead in confusion. "Did you say husband?"

"That's right. Husband. Not one night stand, not mistake, not neighbor, or good friend, or sperm donor with a face. Husband."

Ross looks absolutely astounded.

"You two are married?" He points at us. Monica shows him her wedding ring and I nod, not trusting myself to speak. "Is this for real? You married my sister? When did this happen?"

"A couple of years ago," I admit.

"_What! _You guys have been married for two years—and—this—how--when—how long have you two been…together," he manages, looking as though he just managed to pass a large walnut down his esophagus.

"Since, well, since London," Monica says, glancing at me.

Ross shoots out of his chair, sending it crashing into the table behind us. I see the maitre'd striding determinedly in our direction as I help pick languine off our neighboring patron's lap. After a rather too personal impersonal swipe she knocks my hand away with an indignant squawk. I straighten in time to greet our maitre'd.

"Monsieur," he says in stilted tones. I give him an apologetic smile. He sniffs in disdain at the mess around us and turns back to me.

"Monsieur, I am afraid I will have to ask you and your party to leave."

"I understand," I say, reaching carefully inside my pants pocket. "But I'm sure we can all come to an understanding and enjoy a peaceful dinner." I get my fingers wrapped around the twenty and watch as it flutters to the floor when I try to slip it to the maitre'd. Monica sighs quite loudly and I look at her defensively.

"What? I did everything right. _He_ dropped it." She just rolls her eyes.

"Sorry, sorry," Ross says, righting his chair and issuing his own trite apology to the mix. "We won't cause any more trouble again." He looks to the pasta-covered couple. "Really. I promise." They scowl and turn their heads with a "harrumph!"

We all manage to resume our chairs and, as a measure of good faith, resume eating our dinners quietly, no one talking for a good ten minutes. Then the silence gets the better of Ross.

"You guys have been together since London? That's like, five years!"

I nod, still not trusting myself to speak. Monica raises her eyebrows, but remains quiet.

"How could—how-how did—how, how, how?"

"Do you really want to know?" she asks dryly, reaching for her water.

"Yes—my best friend and my sister?" I'm surprised after all these years of nothing that Ross would still consider me that. I'm not sure that after half a decade of avoidance I'm so charitable. My first instinct, in fact, is to say no. But perhaps it was a slip, something mumbled in confusion when words fail to truly express what it is you're feeling.

"So seriously," Ross persists when no one offers any details. "How did it happen? You guys were friends for years. What—what made that change?"

Honestly, I'm not sure. Maybe it was the alcohol. It had to be the alcohol. Because without it, Monica would have never have gotten drunk. And then she wouldn't have come to my room. And she wouldn't have been so uninhibited as to full on kiss me. Or sleep with me, for that matter. But thank god she did. I can't imagine how pathetic and depressing my life might have been had she not decided that night to get her groove on with me.

"We just…" Monica begins, surprising me. I didn't think anyone was ever really going to answer. I'm not sure if Ross has earned the answer to that complicated question.

"I don't know. We just suddenly saw each other differently. I don't really know how to explain it," she says, trying to dismiss the subject.

"I do. You got hammered and did the nasty with Chandler," Phoebe offers.

_CRASH! _"What!"

Joey jumps up and rights Ross' chair. Rachel comes around and makes her apologies. Monica and I exchange looks as I see our maitre'd making his way to our table. This time he looks pretty ticked off. This is reinforced by the subtle motioning of his hand that produces two bodyguard-like busboys at his side.

"Monsieur Bing. If you do not leave the premises I will have you removed!"

"We're going," Monica jumps up. Or tries to, but it's pretty difficult when you're six months pregnant. "We're very sorry," she offers. One of the busboys actually growls.

"Honey, let's just grab your coat and go, okay?" I say, inching her away from the culinary triumvirate bearing down on us.

"You know what, that's fine. Let's get out of here." Monica grabs her coat and purse and starts pushing her way to the exit.

"Yeah, let's make like a tree and split," Phoebe agrees.

"Leave," I can't help but correct.

"Huh?"

"Never mind," Monica cuts in, giving me a warning look.

We spill out onto the sidewalk amidst a shuffle of coats and feet and hurled insults.

Everyone stares at everyone else, before Phoebe says pleasantly, "Well, that was a wonderful dinner. We should really do it again sometime, Ross. But not too soon. TAXI!" She bellows causing the five of us and four other patrons nearby to jump. A cab swerves at her hand signal and she disappears into the cab before any one can react.

"Yeah, I need to get back, too," Joey announces hesitantly. "Early day tomorrow."

"Yeah, I should go. The, uh, Emma's…" We nod in understanding. "We" as in Monica and I. Ross just stands there with a dumbfounded expression on his face.

"Share a cab?" Joey offers.

"Yeah, that'd be great," Rachel smiles, her first of the evening I think. "See you guys later. Ross."

"Yeah, uh, yeah, bye Ross." Joey offers before turning to hold the car door open for Rachel and settling in beside her.

"And then there were three," I remark.

"And then there was one," Ross corrects glumly. "Look, I'm—I'm sorry about this evening. Everything's…everything's been a big surprise, and…and I'm sorry," he finishes lamely. "You guys…I understand if you don't want…if you never want…"

"Come on, let's go home," Monica interrupts, turning to walk down the street to where our car is parked.

"Yeah. Later, guys. And Chandler," I turn to face him again. Monica stops. "Thanks for trying, man."

I nod. "Sorry," I offer, not sure why I'm apologizing, but I realize I am sorry that things didn't work themselves out. Even though our evening was far from pleasant I missed the six of us being together.

"Come on, I'm freezing," Monica says softly. I nod again and check my pockets for the car keys. We start walking towards our parking space when Monica abruptly turns again.

"Come on, Ross. It's too damned cold to dawdle outside all night."

Ross and I both stare at her in surprise. She returns my look with a shrug and says, "We'll discuss it in the morning."

Ross' face breaks out into a grin and he hurries to catch up. "Thank you," he offers quietly. Monica wraps her coat tighter around her rounded midsection and presses her lips together.

"This isn't over," she says finally, as I pull out our car keys. "You've still got a lot of explaining to do." She fixes Ross with one of her stares. "But I'm too tired tonight to listen to it."

"I know. I—we'll talk in the morning," Ross promises. We walk on a few more paces in silence.

"Hey, isn't home the other way from here?" Ross observes as we round the corner. I click the unlock button on the key fob and hear the alarm chime off.

"Not anymore," Monica replies tiredly.

Looks like we still have a lot of explaining to do.


End file.
